


"Let Me Walk to the Top of the Big Night Sky" (I Don't Wanna Go Home Yet)

by sweaterboy_andthe_absolute_nightmares



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Gay Stanley Uris, M/M, Reddie, Teen AU, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, benverly - Freeform, dont judge a fic by its poorly written summary, eddie rights, its a prom fic im not sorry, teenage romance, very angsty you have been warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 07:02:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21471970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweaterboy_andthe_absolute_nightmares/pseuds/sweaterboy_andthe_absolute_nightmares
Summary: . . .It reminded him of the feeling of broken glass against his hot skin and the warmth of sticky blood running down his hand as he looked into Bill’s eyes and connected his hand to Eddie’s. It reminds him of Eddie, and he thinks that’s the moment when he starts to cry. . .Eddie Kaspbrak has been held back and is afraid of being let go.Richie Tozier has been lost in yearning and isn't ready to say goodbye.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	"Let Me Walk to the Top of the Big Night Sky" (I Don't Wanna Go Home Yet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: homphobic slurs, various character-compliant curse words, hinted parental abuse, mentioned drug abuse.

Richie had decided on the mentality: life is an audition, vowing every waking moment from now until he _ made it _ to perfecting his craft on any and all people who didn’t, or in the case of the losers, _ couldn’t _ say no. His dad _ had _always told him practice makes perfect; however, he figured a comedy career took a bit more effort than his tennis backswing.

He slammed his sister’s old _Happy Days _metal lunch box down on the usual lunch table, ceasing the previous mumblings of conversation between his friends. Bill rolled his eyes and moved over to the empty seat next to him, needing an extra space between him and his too-loud-for-a-Tuesday-morning friend.

Quickly, Richie scanned his brain for a joke to wow his friends with, looking for something to make his entrance as grand as possible.

“Tally Ho ya lowsey loseahs, luhvly morning inntit?” The Nameless British Guy emerged before he could think of anything better. When he slipped into The Voices, it was almost like he was being possessed by another entity; slipping into a skin, a personality, that wasn’t his own. It was a recent development that the losers had begun to give them names, but _British Guy _was too far from perfect to be given such special treatment. Though some people thought it was the easiest, British was the only accent Richie hadn’t quite nailed, meaning it was the main source material he had been using on his friends. _Eye on the ball, watch the swing- atta boy, Rich! Practice makes perfect, right?_

“Jesus Christ, not this guh-guy again, R-richie,” Bill managed with a mouthful of pizza lunchable.

“Seriously, you’ve gotta stop, dude, it's so bad.” Ben buried his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes like he had just been awoken by the worst sounding alarm clock. _Can’t drag yourself out of bed on a dreary Monday? No problem! INTRODUCING THE RINGING RICHIE! He’ll annoy you so much you’ll have no choice but to shut him up! _The “Showbiz Bob” Voice shouted in Richie’s head in true infomercial fashion.

“Agreed.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up Stanley. Why the hell are you here anyway, I thought you and the _Greater Masturbators_ had your meetings during lunch? Or is that just an excuse to blow Mr. Sheridan in the boy’s locker room during your off-period. I swear,” Richie turned to look at the others, “I saw him ogling at his ass in those safety orange basketball shorts last Wednesday, I- “

“Beep beep Richie,” Stan rolled his eyes and Richie wondered if doing that so much ever gave him a headache. “To answer your question, Trashmouth, I abandon the debate team to discuss our arrangements for prom.”

A once timid Stanley Uris had truly metamorphosed during his high school career, _something about fighting a killer clown that puts life into perspective _Richie thought. It all started with the fiery failure that was Derry High School’s _bird watching club _organized by Stan and who’s only member, out of sheer pity, was Richie Tozier. Richie didn’t know anything about birds, but he knew a lot about his friend Stanley, who, though would never admit it, was really glad Richie was there that day. They didn’t talk about birds, much to Richie’s delight, instead debating feverishly over what the “Movie of the Summer” was (Stan winning with his argument for Dead Poets’ Society). Richie also made sure to make Stan laugh a bit more than he usually would that day. However, the club’s failure was probably for the best, Stan refusing true defeat and instead, working his way to the presidential seats of the math club, chess club, and the debate team. Such vast extracurriculars and a more than stunning GPA also awarded him a pretty scholarship to New York University in the fall, but he was never one to brag.

“R-really, Stan, I thought we’d all had enough after the mon-monstrosity that was ju-jun-last year?”

“Agreed,” Richie chimed in. “If it hadn’t been for Bev and I having the, may I say, _ brilliant idea _ of getting us all high last year, the whole thing would’ve gone to shit. I still can’t believe they expected us to dance to a _ Grease medley _” He fake shivered. “What makes you think this year is gonna be any better?”

“Eddie can go with us this year.” Ben piped up and Richie tried not to notice how much the energy in the room changed, them all remembering a time not too long ago when their friend wasn’t so distant. Richie felt his stomach twist and willed himself not to flush. _ Eddie in a suit, Eddie dancing to shitty pop music, Eddie making fun of Richie dancing to shitty pop music, Eddie slow dancing, Eddie slow dancing with Richie- _

“Exactly!” Stan said. “This is our last year with Eddie and he needs to experience prom with the losers. Also,” he looked over to Richie, knowing all too well that his debate team pathos was firing holes in the opposition argument, “if we could save the substances until _ after _ that’d be great. I’d actually like to remember this one, if it’s okay with you, Trashy.” Stan’s eyes wandered around the table, catching Bill’s for a moment too long, causing him to flush pink and hyper-focus on glopping red sauce onto the round crust.

“I’m with Stan,” Ben said finally perking up and Richie made a note to say something about the empty table space in front of him. “It’s our last year with each other, we need to experience prom one more time.”

“Such a sap,” Richie mumbled but nonetheless his body went cold from Ben’s comment. He, like the rest of them, was not immune to the feelings of finality from senior year, though he’d never begin to open up about how soul-crushingly sad he was about the whole thing. They didn’t need to know about how he’d sometimes lock his bedroom door and turn Heroes by Bowie on full blast when he knew Went and Maggie weren’t home. The song reminded him of summer. _ That _ summer. Meeting Ben and Mike and Bev, and though nothing was normal, somehow, he had started to feel like a normal kid. One with friends. One with family. It reminded him of shared ice cream cones, waiting too long to eat it and it dripping hot on his hand, his cold tongue lapping it up and Eddie fake-retching because _ do you even remember the last time you washed your hands, fuckface? _ It reminded him of the too-cold AC of the Capitol theater, the sound of 8-bit fight songs and the mashing of buttons and the feeling of his hand lingering a bit too long over Eddie’s when they both reached for player one. It reminded him of the feeling of broken glass against his hot skin and the warmth of sticky blood running down his hand as he looked into Bill’s eyes and connected his hand to Eddie’s. It reminds him of Eddie, and he thinks that’s the moment when he starts to cry.

“We’ll chat more about it after school when the rest of us are around,” Stan said rising and crumpling his paper bag into a ball. “I’ve gotta run, the thought of Madalyn Quail being in charge of minutes is making me nervous.” He gave a small wave before turning on his heel and walking away

“Tell Mr. Sheridan I said hi,” Richie shouted after him and blew Stanley a kiss before reaching into the lunch box and pulling out a ziplocked bologna sandwich before sliding it across the table to Ben.

They heard Stan let out a sarcastic laugh that only Richie knew was laced with genuineness, before flipping Richie the bird with his left hand, throwing his paper bag ball into the adjacent trash can with his right.

Ben threw the sandwich back to Richie who promptly hit it out of the air like a pick-up game of bologna-badminton.

“What’s the matter, Haystack, afraid you won’t fit into your prom dress?”

“Lay off, Rich,” Ben said, letting the sandwich sit in front of him as he rested his head on his folded arms, fully aware that if he passed it back it would be returned. If Richie was anything, it was relentless.

“Or you think Beverly won’t want to run away with you after you graduate if you don’t lose a f-”

“Shut the fuck up, Richie.” Bill said, clear as day. His stutter hardly noticeable when the words flowed from him naturally. Like his body was talking for him rather than his brain.

Richie felt his face grow hot, feeling like he was being scolded by an adult. Bill was more of an authority than the rest of them were anyway. But who the fuck was Bill to tell him what to do? “You’ve got no right to be martyr, _Big Bill_. Are we gonna ignore how fucked up it is that you’d rather be going to prom with--”

“Richie! Can it!” Ben shared his hue with Bill’s, them both staring daggers at Richie.

He thought he saw tears pooling in Ben’s eyes and watched as Bill’s fists clenched and unclenched, knowing now was the time to stop but promptly turning off any outward display of guilt.

“It’s not funny dude. You’re not funny.”

He’d thought of about five other things to say, but kept them all in his brain, knowing that even if what he said was helpful, it wasn’t going to help. He pulled a bag of grapes out of the box, obnoxiously chomping down on them, desperately trying to fill the awkward silence that fell over them, the feeling of the grapes bursting between his teeth a means of catharsis for the rage bubbling inside of him. He couldn’t tell if he was angrier at them or himself. _Why don’t they understand that I’m just joking?_ he asked the chipped-paint smiling face of the Fonz staring up at him. Mocking him. Fonzie was cool. All leather jackets and motorcycles and girls. Richie tried. He really did. Maybe he just tried too hard.

The Fonz was funny without making his friends hate him.

_ Why can’t you just learn when to stop? _

\----------------------------------------------------------------

There were 5 minutes and 42 seconds until Eddie was free. Well, maybe not free, but the closest to freedom he’d ever get. 5 minutes and…37 seconds until he had 4 hours to do whatever he wanted without having to worry about his mother. 3 hours and 45 minutes until the fun would end and he would have to walk back to the school, insert 3 quarters into the payphone outside and ask her to pick him up. 3 quarters that he carried around in his pocket all day, every day, them weighing him down with the constant reminder of his imprisonment.

He thought that might be a little harsh, calling it imprisonment. I mean, his mother cared about him, that’s more than he could say for Richie’s mom who was a bit more concerned about what she could tell her doctor about to get her next set of pills. Or Bev’s dad who was too drunk most times to even recognize that she wasn’t home as long as she turned on a Psychedelic Furs CD on repeat before she climbed onto the fire escape and escaped to Richie or Bill’s house. _It isn’t imprisonment, she just loves you_ he would tell himself and wonder why love felt so much like a life sentence.

It was actually Richie that suggested The Plan in the first place.

***

“Why don’t you just tell her you joined the football team or something?” They were at their usual spot outside the school, lying in the grass trying to soak up the few minutes of freedom he had before his mother pulled up in her Honda, drawing too much attention to him by honking her horn too many times. She had sold his bike about 6 months after _that_ summer after seeing a special report on the channel 6 news about a recall on Huffys. Apparently, the breaks were spontaneously going out causing kids to fly over the handlebars and _you wouldn’t want to break your other arm, right Eddie-bear? _Eddie road a Schwinn, but that was beside the point.

“Are you out of your mind, dipshit?” He said, his and Richie’s feet kicking at each other in an overly aggressive game of footsie in the grass while Richie laid his head in Bev’s lap. Eddie was sprawled out on the grass with his head propped up with his backpack, laying on a collection of the Loser’s jackets, knowing that if he came home with grass stains Sonia would throw a shitfit, convinced he had ticks. “She’d probably put me back in the psych ward for trying to self-inflict a concussion. Do you really think that she’d let me join a fucking sport?”

“Plus,” Bev added, pausing to take a drag of her cigarette then passing it to Richie, “football only lasts like, at most, 4 months.”

“That’s okay, we can only tolerate Eddie for about that much time out of the year anyway,” Richie said a stupid grin plastered on his face. Thankfully, no one else laughed.

Bev shoved him off her at the comment and he scrambled to sit cross-legged, immediately beginning to nervously pluck grass from the lawn. Eddie grabbed for a blade too, tying it in knots.

A wave of silence passed over them as they considered their options.

“What about marching band?” Richie said, putting the cigarette out in the grass, earning a _what the fuck, bro _from Bev, a few more available drags gone to waste at Richie’s fidgeting hands.

“You’re a moron, Richie.” Eddie said, not really listening to what he had to say.

“Yeah, R-rich, band only runs f-for as long as f-f-football does.”

“Not necessarily…” Bev said looking at Richie, sharing the same train of thought.

“Yeah, sure, marching band ends in November,” Richie said shimming over to Eddie who immediately stood up and wiped the invisible dirt from his clothes, needing desperately to run from whatever physical touch Richie had in mind. His mother was probably already going to send him to rehab for smelling like cigarette smoke.

“…But then there’s pep band for basketball, and after that you could say you’re doing orchestra or something.”

“We don’t have an orchestra, Richie.” Eddie tried, looking down at him. Richie only looked up at him, smiling that stupid smile that Eddie couldn’t explain why it made him so mad or why his heart was beating faster than normal; he tried to tell himself that it wasn’t some kind of arrhythmia getting stuck on the thought of collapsing there on the grass, covering himself in grass stains, hitting his head, getting a concussion, getting ticks in his hair….

“The musical,” Ben added snapping Eddie out of his train of thought. Ben stood and reached out his hand to help Bev up. She politely smiled at it and stood on her own. Ben turned red at the failed gesture and smiled at Eddie anyway. “You could be a part of the orchestra for the musical in the spring.”

“But what instrument would he play in this fictional world where Eddie has any sense of rhythm,” Richie laughed, lightly poking Eddie’s nose causing a heat to tint his cheeks. He wasn’t thinking about his heart now, though he still felt it thumping. Eddie tried to look angry and wipe at his nose but ended up smiling anyway. 

“Drums?” Bill tried, walking to stand next to Bev, who grabbed his arm and leaned into it.

“No way, he’d get too buff having to carry that weight all the time,” Bev said giggling, resulting in a snort from Richie and a half-baked apology from her.

“No, Eds would play a wind instrument.” Richie added standing so close to Eddie that he was certain the smell of the Marlboro Reds would be embedded in his clothes for him to smell long after they’d said goodbye. “Flute?”

“People call _you_ a fag, Trashy, not Eddie.” Bill laughed and Eddie thought he saw Richie’s jaw set just slightly. Bill was wrong, also. Of course, people called Eddie a fag and all its various conjugations. Fag, Faggot, Faggas, Fagamos… They just weren’t around Eddie enough to know the full extent of the slurs shouted across the hall.

“My dad used to play clarinet” Eddie said excitedly, feeling the potential this idea had, the thought of getting to see his friends _everyday _for longer than 20 minutes making his stomach churn in the best way and his heart to beat impossibly faster. “We probably still have it in the attic or something. I can look.”

The distinct sound of his mom’s Honda could be heard from a few blocks away, the mention of his father drawing her in like the smell of blood to a shark.

They all scattered, Richie still shouting at him once he knew he was out of eyesight from the Kaspbrak-mobile, desperately trying to continue the conversation. “Hey Eds! Maybe you can learn to play the _Cheers_ theme! You’ll be like Harry Kim from Star Trek! Or-“

Eddie just smiled, not fully listening to Richie talk about nothing but feeling comforted by the timbre of his voice. His last comment, though, was cut off by the obnoxious honking of Sonia Kaspbrak from the driver’s seat, Eddie scurrying over to the car before she rolled down the window and started bellowing. If he smelled like cigarette smoke she didn’t notice, she was too concerned about the smudge of dirt he had on his nose. 

**

It was then that Eddie Kaspbrak began carrying around a clarinet to and from school, stuffing it and its case into his locker before the first bell, having never touched the instrument to his lips. The mere thought of having to constantly cover something in spit made chills go up his spine.

The same case that he stuffed into his backpack before walking out of school, letting the bright sunlight hit his face and warm his skin. The weather had been hot in Derry, then, causing the janitorial staff to crank the AC like the high school was a refrigerator. Eddie hated the AC. Too sterile. Too medical. 

“Hey hot stuff, you goin’ my way?” Eddie looked up to see Richie, leaning out of the driver’s side window of his mom’s green Pinto, the cars behind him honking at his abrupt stop in the middle of the after-school traffic.

“How’d you luck out on this one, Rich?” Eddie asked once he’d practically ran around to the passenger side, opening the door and climbing in. Richie began to lurch forward before Eddie had even got his leg in the door.

“Went’s on a business trip to Augusta so Maggie’s driving the Caddy, which means _this guy_ gets the green machine and its bumpin’ stereo system. Pick a tape, Eddie Spaghetti.” Richie leaned over brushing his arm against Eddie’s knee and popped open the glovebox, a stash of cassettes nearly spilling out.

“How long’s your dad gonna be gone?” Eddie asked rifling through, trying to find a name he found familiar. 

“A week, maybe two. Come on, dude, you’re taking forever!” He jabbed his hand into the glovebox, resting it ever so slightly on Eddie’s before pulling a tape at random. “Fuck yeah, this’ll work.” Eddie tried not to think about how hot he felt. _The weather, obviously. _

Eddie watched as Richie read the tape, trying to find the right track number for the song he wanted. “Eyes on the road, dumbass! Are you trying to kill us?!”

Richie grinned at him, sliding the tape into the deck. “The speed limit is only 20 right now, Eds. We’ll be fine.”

“We’re going to die.”

Richie was right, _the_ _green machine _did have a pretty good stereo, the deep kick drum and dreamy synth intro of _Burning Down the House _filling the car. Eddie grabbed the knob and turned it up, with an emphatic “oh fuck this is so good.”

“What the hell dude, are you trying to make me go deaf?!” Richie yelled and Eddie laughed.

“I’M. AN. OR.DIN.AR.Y. GUY. BURNING DOWN THE HOUSE!” Eddie yelled back at him in time with the song and Richie laughed out loud, drumming his hands on the steering wheel.

Soon enough, they pulled into the QuikSave parking lot pulling up next to Bill’s empty Toyota, Richie turning off the car and singing _Girlfriend is Better _in a not half bad David Byrne impression. Eddie giggled against his will and grabbed his book bag that he had haphazardly thrown in the back seat. Richie left his, his end of senior year coursework being much lighter than Eddie’s. QuikSave was one of the places near The Barrens that hadn’t kicked them out or ticketed them for loitering while they hung out. It was more of a walk than the Blockbuster down the street, but Eddie didn’t mind. 

“Fair warning.” Richie said as they started walking, so close together that their arms were brushing. “Stanthony has some hair-brained idea that we all need to go to prom again this year. I think it’s fucking dumb but he seems pretty excited by it so-“

“Could be fun.” 

“No. Certainly not fun.”

“I didn’t get to go last year, though.”

“You should be _glad_, Eds. Maybe it’d be fun if they hired _me _as the DJ but as long as Principal Flint is in charge of the mix, we’ll be doomed to dance to Grease Medleys and countless Backstreet Boys songs.”

“I kind of like The Backstreet Boys.”

“Of course, you do.”

“It’s pointless to talk about anyway,” Eddie began, the reality of the situation setting in. “My mom’s never gonna let me go anyway.” He said this to the ground but knew something was off because Richie grew impossibly silent.

They were quiet for a while, Eddie drowning in the uncertainty of the silence. _You were gone for too long Eddie_. A voice inside him taunted. _You were gone for too long and now they feel like they have to baby you. None of them really want to go to prom, they’re just doing it because they know you’ll be sad if they don’t. Baby Eddie. Delicate Eddie. The only reason they’re still your friends is because you wouldn’t leave them alone. You bothered them too much and now they feel like they have to keep you around. They’re miserable and it’s all your f-_

“No.” He heard, wishing secretly that Richie was responding to his thoughts.

“What do you mean, no?” They were getting close to The Barrens now, faintly hearings Bev’s boombox and the sound of Mike’s laughter. Eddie still got excited like a little kid when he got to spend time with them. _Savor this while it lasts. _

“We’re going to prom. Fuck your mom, dude. Like, not even joking this time. I’m so fucking sick of this. We’re going to prom, all of us, I don’t care if we have to sneak you out or something we’ll figure it out. You. Edward Charles Kaspbrak, are attending _A Night Under the Stars _if I have to drag you there myself.”

Eddie smiled, any previous unsavory thoughts lingering but not loud enough for him not to hear Richie’s adamant speech. They were close enough to The Barrens to see Stan and Mike lounging on one another taking, Bev sitting against a tree reading a book while Ben and Bill bickered over a calculus problem.

“Thank god. Richie’s here, he’ll help you, Bill” Eddie heard Ben say, catching Eddie’s eyes and waving.

“You’d really subject yourself to another year of hand-jiving for me, Rich?” Eddie asked nudging Richie in the side and waved back.

“Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days? Well, Eds, you wouldn’t want to miss out on the experience that is one of _my _hand-jives,” Richie laughed pausing to wiggle his eyebrows at Eddie before continuing down the hill. Eddie didn’t know if he needed to punch him or scream. He did neither. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thanks so much for reading. It's finals season so updates might be a little scarce right now but hang in there!   
Fic title is from _First Love/Late Spring_ by Mitski. Chapter title is from _Burning Down the House_ by Talking Heads.  
Stalk me on tumblr @beepbeepolivia


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